by Davis Bunn
They stayed like that for a long moment, until Esther felt Samantha’s arm encircle her waist. Then the doors leading to the dining room slid open, and another pair of arms enfolded them all.
Esther closed her eyes and thought how the house was finally becoming a home.
37
At 2:47 that afternoon, the markets hiccupped.
Esther was busy adjusting her new data stream and preparing her presentation to the hedge-fund investors. Then the news ticker crawling across the top of her central screen caused her to gasp.
Craig was seated in the padded chair brought in from her bedroom. “What’s the matter?”
Esther remained focused on the screens and waved him quiet.
Samantha and Abigail had fashioned a corner alcove from throw cushions and quilts. They rose from their game and came over to see what was going on. Abigail said, “Can you really understand all those graphs and—”
“Hold that thought.” Esther sensed Craig step up beside his daughters. She scrolled back on the news item. “‘Spain has called for snap elections.’”
Craig asked, “Why is that important?”
Esther checked the wall display to her left, six clocks in global array. It was eight o’clock in the evening in Europe. That might give the markets time to digest the news before tomorrow’s opening.
“Esther, what’s wrong?” Craig asked.
“Spain is the EU’s largest debtor nation. As a percentage of total GDP, their national debt is still considered by most experts to be manageable. But it is a huge burden, and a growing percentage of the nation is in revolt against the required austerity to make the repayment schedule. This has been imposed by the other EU nations, especially Germany.” She looked up at him. “Spain’s most recent municipal elections have brought in two new political parties. One is intent on seceding Spain’s richest province from the nation. The other is demanding debt relief. It looks like they will be able to form a majority alliance and take over the national government.”
“Like Greece?”
“No, Craig, not like Greece.” She could hear the tight edge in her voice, but couldn’t do anything about it. “Spain is ten times the size of Greece’s economy. If a new Spanish government invalidates the debt agreements, Europe hits the wall.”
Samantha said, “So this is bad, right?”
“At this point, it’s just another news item.” She switched two screens to view the US markets. The controls were slightly different from those she was used to, and the time lag of several seconds only heightened her concerns. “Elections are set for seven days. Hopefully the markets can hold steady until . . .”
When the second news item slid across the screen, she felt the breath lock in her throat.
“Esther?”
“No, no, no, no.”
“What?”
“Japan’s government just announced it’s gone back into recession. That means their last public growth estimate was three percent off.”
“Why has the ribbon at the bottom of your screen gone all red?” Samantha asked.
“The US markets responded to the news by going into panic mode.” Esther pointed to the graphs on the central monitor. “This shows the Dow ticking downward. To have a visual shift in the entire market, within the space of less than a minute, means only one thing: a huge sell-off.”
When the phone rang, Esther put it on speaker without taking her eyes off the screen. “Larsen.”
Jasmine asked, “Are you watching this?”
“Yes.”
Esther’s rock-solid number two actually stammered, “Is . . . is this it?”
“Not yet.”
“For real, or are you saying that just to get me down off the ceiling?”
“Analysts are not allowed to climb the walls. It’s in our contract. Is Jason in the building?”
“He was this morning.”
“Go tell him to hedge the downside. Aim for nine hundred points below the market’s opening position.”
“You really think the market will stabilize?”
“Yes. Which means the bank can still profit from this turmoil. If they act immediately.”
Jasmine said slowly, “You know the traders are barking that the bank should liquidate their positions.”
“That would only add to the decline, and the panic, and the loss. Hedge is better.”
“Nine hundred point floor. Got it.”
“Hurry.” Then the previous day’s fears struck with the force of a hammer. “Wait! Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Have you located Hewitt?”
“Have I . . . ? Esther, we’re in crisis mode here. I can’t be worrying about some—”
“This is important. You have to find him.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Now, Jasmine. Once you speak with Jason, locating Hewitt is your absolute number-one priority.” Esther had not pulled her hand away from the phone when it rang again. “Larsen.”
Suzie McManning asked, “Can you come in?”
“What, right now?”
“Our session this morning has gone national. Bloomberg played it twice. We want to lead as soon as the market closes.”
“On my way.” Esther swiveled her chair around. Three sets of staring eyes watched her as she asked, “How would you like to see inside a television studio?”
38
Esther had disliked the feel of the cosmetician’s fingers on her face. The smell of cigarette ashes had lingered through much of the first broadcast. So Esther took time now and did her best job. She would touch up with powder before going on, if she had time. Otherwise she was fine.
When the phone rang and she saw it was the clinic, she answered, “Is this an absolute emergency?”
“Esther, this is Dr. Cleveland. I have—”
“How is Nathan?”
The doctor was clearly not accustomed to her taking control. “Nathan is, well, there’s no change. But—”
“In that case, this needs to wait until tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid that’s not—”
“Listen very carefully. I have a stock market in full panic. I am scheduled to be on air in twenty-six minutes. This conversation is over.”
“But—”
She cut the connection. Samantha, seated on the padded cushion of the front window box, said, “You look nice.”
“Thank you.” Esther checked her reflection in the glass. She wore a midnight-blue Lauren suit with a silk blouse cut like a man’s tuxedo shirt. Ferragamo pumps. “I think I used too much hair spray.”
“I can’t tell.” Samantha pointed at the phone on her bed. “Are you always so . . . ?”
“Bossy,” Esther finished for her. “Hardly ever. But that doctor . . . I don’t know. I think he likes to bully people.”
“He treats your brother?”
“Treat is not the right word. He runs the rehab clinic.” She picked up her purse. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about Nathan right now?”
“Sure.”
“It’s just . . . talking about him makes me sad, and I need to focus.”
“Hey, you don’t ever have to explain that to me.” Samantha rose to her feet. “You’re sure it’s cool, showing up with your posse?”
Esther waved her toward the door. “I think it’s great.”
They quickly decided to all go in Esther’s car. Once they were under way, she connected the hands-free and made a call. “Talmadge, it’s Esther.”
“Of course it’s you.” His voice filled the car. “I don’t give out my private line to so many folks, I can’t recognize their number.”
Abigail said softly, “He’s rude.”
“He thinks he can get away with it,” Esther said, “because he’s rich.”
Talmadge demanded, “Who’s that listening in on what I thought was a private conversation?”
“Friends.”
“And what does that make me, fried catfish?”
Esther loved
having a reason to smile on such a dark afternoon. “I assume you’re aware of what’s happening.”
“Watching and sweating. Is this the big one?”
“I don’t think so. No.”
He actually sighed. “Okay, I can fit my heart back into my chest again. Long as you’re sure.”
“Call it eighty percent certain.”
“That’ll have to do. Where are you now?”
“On my way to the station. They want to do a live feed after the closing bell.”
“Yeah, Chuck already passed along that news flash. Looks like they’ll want you on every evening.”
“In that case, we need to postpone tomorrow’s dinner with your investors.”
“I got a better idea,” Talmadge replied. “Let’s have our meeting at the station. We’ll come on over and watch you scare the living daylights out of folks.”
Esther did not know how she felt about more people observing from behind the cameras, but she just said, “I’ll see you there.” She said good-bye, then glanced over to Samantha in the passenger seat. “Anything?”
The girl was busy scrolling through the news feeds on Esther’s tablet. She said, “There’s another thing here about Japan.”
“Read it to me.” In truth, Esther did not need to hear it. It was only the pundits responding now. There would not be anything real until the Far East markets opened. But she liked having the girl feel engaged. Craig was seated behind his daughter, Abigail beside him. Esther liked having them all together in one car. She was certain someone from the station could drive them home if necessary. After all, she was doing a daily show now. They had not even discussed a paycheck. The least the station could do was provide her posse a lift home.
Abigail crowded forward between the two seats and shrilled, “There’s another one!”
A maroon Nissan in the next lane had a BookOfEsther.info bumper sticker. Samantha said, “Blue on a purple car? Puh-leese.”
“You are too much,” Esther said.
“That makes six,” Abigail said. “On this trip alone.”
Esther said, “Check the market.”
Samantha’s nimble fingers found it easily. “Down another three eighty.”
Craig asked, “Is that bad?”
“It’s not good. But at least the downward slide isn’t as fast—” Her phone rang. She hit the hands-free button on her steering wheel. “Larsen.”
“Ms. Larsen, this is Emily Waters with Good Morning America.”
Esther saw Samantha’s eyes go round. In the rearview mirror Abigail mouthed a silent Wow! to her dad. Esther said, “Yes, Emily.”
“We’d like to invite you back again for tomorrow morning’s show.”
“I’m more than happy to participate,” Esther replied. “So long as Suzie McManning handles the session.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Then I can’t accept. Sorry.”
Emily Waters was clearly not accustomed to being turned down. “Ms. Larsen, there could not possibly be a greater boost to your publicity efforts than appearing on GMA. Our presenters—”
“Are the best in the world at infotainment,” Esther said, cutting the woman off. “I absolutely agree. And that is precisely why I will work only with Suzie.”
Emily Waters revealed a terse New York edge. “We design our program to appeal to the largest possible audience. A national audience, Ms. Larsen.”
“But this is not entertainment. You’re calling because the market has taken a serious nosedive, and people are afraid. I want to respond to this in a businesslike fashion. Suzie is part of the package.”
There was a moment’s silence, then, “We could perhaps offer to carry the feed on our affiliate business-news channels.”
“Same answer as before,” Esther said.
The woman’s voice had lost all hint of civility. “I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Great.” Esther cut the connection, then added, “You do that.”
Samantha stared over at her. “That was so totally ice.”
Esther liked having a reason to grin. “Glad you approve. Now check the markets one more time. We’re almost there.”
39
WEDNESDAY
Reynolds Thane spent six long hours reviewing accounts and income figures with the bank’s various divisions. It was all for show. On Monday he was scheduled to make his final quarterly report to the market analysts. But if their plans unfolded as they should, the world’s attention would be elsewhere come Monday morning.
Running the numbers and building a prediction of the next quarter’s profits was normally one of his more pleasant responsibilities. But today was different, and not just because of the events he and Sir Trevor were putting in place. As expected, the previous afternoon’s turmoil in Spain and Japan continued to impact Wall Street. The markets were initially down, including CFM’s shares. But by midafternoon it appeared that a floor had been realized. The fact that this was precisely what Esther Larsen had predicted, in contrast to most of the other on-air pundits, was repeatedly mentioned by the banks’ senior executives. They intended their comments as compliments. After all, Larsen was CFM’s top analyst. They assumed Reynolds would be delighted. Reynolds pretended to enjoy their banter.
The meetings finally ended just as Wall Street halted the day’s trading. Because of Esther Larsen, the bank actually realized a profit over the two days of turmoil. Reynolds invited the senior executives from each division to meet with him on the investment bank’s trading floor. Jason was at the back of the giant cube when Reynolds arrived. He followed his boss as Reynolds slowly made his way among the traders, shaking hands, thanking them personally, promising each trader a substantial bonus for their loyalty through a difficult period, watching the scowls and the resentment wilt beneath the force of his charm. By the time he arrived at the front, the open space at the back and the aisles were crammed with people from other divisions.
He stood beneath the massive flat-screen monitors. Above his head was displayed the intel from markets all over the globe. He had started to suggest the screens be shut off, then decided the data stream made for a fitting background. They were, after all, entering into a global venture with one of Europe’s largest and oldest banks. So Reynolds began his presentation with a smile and sweep of his hands, taking in the markets and all the opportunities they represented.
His announcement drew no surprised murmurs, which confirmed the need to do this now. Draw in his troops by affirming the rumors were indeed facts. Show them how this magnified their opportunities. Assure them that everyone present was part of the new future.
Start to finish, it required only seven minutes. He could see a few questioning expressions, but then some of the bank’s older employees had entered the firm expecting lifetime employment in a bank with steady if unimaginative growth. Reynolds pitied them. They belonged to a bygone era. Banking had moved on. There was really no place for them now.
In the midst of what should have been a successful conclusion to his singular performance, every eye rose to the monitors overhead. Reluctantly he turned and found himself watching an alert for another session from Esther Larsen and Suzie McManning, due to start immediately following Market Roundup.
Reynolds dismissed the image with a sweep of his hand and a smile. Most eyes were on him, so that few saw Jason savagely order the nearest trader to switch channels. When Larsen’s picture was replaced, Reynolds made his way back down the central aisle, shaking hands, taking it slow, keeping his simmering rage down where it did not show.
When the executives departed, Reynolds gave the bank’s head of PR the green light to alert the press. Then he and Jason stood isolated by the normal trading clamor. Reynolds said, “I assume there’s no need to ask about our conversation yesterday.”
Jason shook his head, tight as a boxer throwing off sweat. “As of tonight, there won’t be an issue that requires our discussion at all.”
“Glad to hear it.” Reynol
ds kept his smile in place for all the watchful traders. “Between now and then, Larsen needs to understand how vital it is for her findings to remain in-house.”
“Agreed.”
“I’ll have my assistant track her down. I will then lay it out in black and white. Those on-air chats end now.”
“You sure you don’t want me to handle this?”
“What I want,” Reynolds said, “is for you to get ready for the arrival of more funds.”
The senior trader glanced at the monitors. “The markets are down substantially, which means we can reap the whirlwind.”
Reynolds reflected that the man had never spoken truer words, only not for the reasons he thought. All he said was, “I want you to hold everything in cash until tomorrow.”
Jason turned to him. “You have word of something?”
“I do indeed,” Reynolds said.
“Big enough to impact our secret trades?”
“Without question.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Soon. You’ll receive your team’s marching orders by midnight tomorrow.”
Jason nodded. “You’re certain these events will create upheaval?”
Reynolds smiled at the screens on the side wall. “Be ready to move as soon as word comes in.”
“How much more are you putting on the table?”
“Another four billion.”
“In that case,” Jason said, “it’s important I leave for Bermuda. Right now, as a matter of fact.”
“Have a pleasant flight.” Reynolds bore his bland smile back through the corridor and into the elevator. Not even then did he release his rage. These days, cameras were everywhere. He stared at his reflection in the mottled bronze doors and took comfort in his absence of remorse.
There was a blithe satisfaction to the act of murder by proxy. Besides which, the woman had intruded upon his moment in the spotlight. She deserved her fate.
40
Esther spent most of Wednesday sequestered with Talmadge’s attorneys, jumping through the legal hoops required to set up her hedge fund. Talmadge had instructed them to have the project up and running by close of business, and as a result the process moved swiftly. Even so, it made for a long and tiring day.
